Suicides and Suicide Attempts

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    Tending to Grass, and to Grief, on a Tennis Court in Iowa

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    Mark Kuhn is hunched over, one knee on the ground, pulling dandelions from an otherwise immaculate lawn. With a small, serrated blade, he carefully carves tiny leaves from the turf, extracting as much of their roots as he can reach, and places them in a plastic container beside him. Dandelions, I learn, are as prolific as they are stubborn.Three days earlier and some 4,000 miles away in my native England, Novak Djokovic had once again held the Wimbledon trophy aloft on the most revered court in all of tennis. Meanwhile, I was driving the 1,926 miles from my adopted home of Oakland, Calif., to be here, on this tennis court, on a farm in Northern Iowa, standing next to Mark and his weed-filled ice cream tub.I kick off my shoes and stand barefoot like a child, taking in the Midwestern summer. The grass on the soles of my feet is warm and welcoming, and the morning sun undulates on the corrugated metal of the Kuhn family’s sheds and silos. I feel like I’ve been here before.Mr. Kuhn on his court. The idea to build it first occurred to him in 1962.My memories of early childhood are mostly vague: a muted palette of inconsistency and confusion, lacking defined edges or chronology. But recollections of summers, which were spent in rural Cambridgeshire with my grandparents, are bathed in the palomino gold of the August sun on fields as far as the eye could see, and in the warmth of the love I felt there. Every afternoon, a curtain of decapitated dandelion-seed fluff, churned up by nearby combine harvesters, would fill the lattice patio window, on its way to offering seemingly infinite new beginnings.It was here I discovered tennis — albeit watching, not playing. I was a resolutely unathletic child, one of my more enduring traits. In 1997, most British households had only five television channels, two of which ran wall-to-wall Wimbledon coverage for two full weeks, every year. I would normally have been at school in late June, but it was clear to one of my more perceptive teachers — who knew that I’d struggled in recent years with my grandfather’s sudden death, and with my father’s decision to leave to start a new family — that I was deeply unhappy at home and would be better off beginning my summer break early.From the comfort and loving safety of Nan’s sofa, I quickly became invested in the progress of Tim Henman, who made it to the quarterfinals. At first, it was because there was simply nothing else on TV, and the whiff of British success at Wimbledon tends to send my country into an inexplicably contagious fever. Ultimately though, it was Henman’s dogged determination that kept me hooked. An unlikely hero, his resolve was an unexpected ember of inspiration for a lost kid who was desperately grasping for something solid to hang on to.Two tennis professionals, Kiranpal Pannu and Nathan Healey, during a practice session.A group of ball girls lines up in a shed beside the court.A breeze flutters through the six-feet-tall cornstalks. Mark tells me the corn grows so quickly this time of year that you can actually hear it. I’m not sure if he’s serious, but I furtively prick an ear, just in case. The lament of a mourning dove is accompanied by the shrill urgency of a red-winged blackbird flitting between field and power line. At ground level I hear the occasional crunch of tires on the loose gravel road beyond the farm’s perimeter. Necks craned, passers-by peer for a better view of the All Iowa Lawn Tennis Club, as spectacular as it is incongruous, and a plume of dust forms in their curious wake.Exactly 20 years ago, Mark, together with his wife Denise and their two sons, Mason and Alex, began the laborious and experimental undertaking of building a grass tennis court on their farm on the outskirts of Charles City, Iowa. It took more than a year to finish.It was the realization of a dream the reluctant third-generation farmer had held since 1962, having become enamored of Wimbledon two years previously when he heard a BBC broadcast on his grandfather’s shortwave radio. Twelve years old and absent-mindedly doing his chores, Mark noticed the cattle feedlot he was standing in was about the size of a regulation tennis court. But it wasn’t until the sudden death of a close friend, some 40 years later, that he was galvanized to try to make his far-fetched daydream a reality.Mark plays on the court occasionally, but his main source of joy lies in the rituals of preparing it for others to enjoy. The All Iowa Lawn Tennis Club — a nod to Wimbledon’s home at the All England Lawn Tennis Club — is open to whoever wants to drop Mark a line to request a reservation.Mr. Kuhn operates his greens mower.With string guiding the way, the lines on the court are painted with a titanium dioxide compound.Mr. Kuhn measures the height of the net.The week following the 2022 Wimbledon Championships, Mark is preparing to host Madison Keys, a one-time U.S. Open finalist, for an exhibition tournament benefiting her Kindness Wins Foundation.Just after sunrise, using a greens mower, Mark meticulously crops one millimeter off the top of the grass in four directions, giving the surface its distinctive stripes. Then it’s time for his favorite task: marking up the court. After aligning the edges with string, he slowly paints the tramlines — one careful step at a time, heel to toe — with a brilliant white titanium dioxide compound. The net is then dropped and pulled drum-tight, until it measures exactly three feet in the middle.Tips for Parents to Help Their Struggling TeensCard 1 of 6Tips for Parents to Help Their Struggling TeensAre you concerned for your teen? More

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      in Soccer

      Chelsea F.C. Shaken by Concerns, Complaints and a Suicide

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      When Chelsea’s new owners paid billions for the Premier League club, they also inherited accusations of a toxic culture inside its offices.LONDON — Month after stressful month, the problems mounted inside Chelsea F.C.Almost a dozen employees of the club’s marketing department said they had come to expect being berated by their boss in front of colleagues. Others said they had faced his wrath in more humiliating ways, ordered to stand up and leave staff meetings on a single man’s word.The pressure took its toll. By last year, multiple Chelsea employees had vanished for weeks, or sometimes months, of medical leave. At least 10 staff members — from a department that employs about 50 people — had left the club altogether, one employee said. Then, in early January, a well-liked former staff member killed himself.While it is unknown whether workplace pressure was to blame, his death stunned the Chelsea employees who had come to consider him a friend and sounding board. During conversations at a memorial service for him earlier this year, their sense of shock and sadness gave way to anger.“It should never have happened,” one employee said.Amid growing internal pressure to address the problems, Chelsea this spring hired a consultancy to conduct what was described as a “cultural review” of the marketing department. But few staff members had confidence in the process: The review of their workplace, they were told, would be overseen by the executive who they felt was to blame for the worst of its problems.Troubled TimesIt is hard to think of a professional sports team whose employees have had to endure the kind of uncertainty that the staff at Chelsea has faced this year.The club’s world was turned upside down in March, when the team’s longtime owner, the Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich, was sanctioned by the British government just as he announced plans to sell the Premier League club. Until that process was complete, those working for Chelsea — from players and coaches to executives and lower-level staff members — were left to worry about how to do their work; whether they would still be paid for it; and if their jobs would still exist once a new owner was found.Some of that uncertainty disappeared in May, when a group led by the Los Angeles Dodgers co-owner Todd Boehly paid a record price to acquire Chelsea and the most onerous restrictions placed on the team’s business were lifted. But as all that was playing out in the headlines, a more troubling situation was festering behind the scenes.The New York Times interviewed almost a dozen current and former Chelsea employees in reporting this article. Speaking independently, all painted a picture of a dysfunctional workplace environment at Chelsea marked by unhappiness, intimidation and fear. But it was the death by suicide in January of Richard Bignell, the former head of Chelsea TV, that brought to light longstanding concerns about the environment inside the team’s marketing department — a group comprising roughly 50 employees — and the behavior of its leader, Gary Twelvetree.In a statement on Wednesday, two days after The Times contacted the club about the employees’ accusations, Chelsea said its new board had appointed “an external review team to investigate the allegations that have been made under previous ownership.”“The club’s new board believes strongly in a workplace environment and corporate culture that empowers its employees and ensures they feel safe, included, valued and trusted,” the statement said.While the club said “initial steps have been taken by the new owners to instill an environment consistent with our values,” it is unclear if any action has been taken by the new board in response to staff members’ allegations against Twelvetree. The club said he was unavailable for comment.While Bignell’s family chose not to speak with The Times when contacted, almost a dozen current and former Chelsea employees spoke of a toxic workplace culture under Twelvetree that they said left many staff members feeling belittled, bullied and sometimes even fearful of merely attending meetings.The employees spoke on condition of anonymity because some still work at Chelsea, or in soccer, and feared retaliation or damage to their professional reputations by detailing their experiences publicly. But a coroner’s report compiled after Bignell died in January and reviewed by The Times linked his suicide to “despair following the loss of his job.”By March, under pressure after Bignell’s death and amid growing frustration among the colleagues and friends he had left behind, Chelsea hired an outside firm to look into the culture inside the department as well as the accusations of bullying made by several employees against Twelvetree. But to the frustration of some employees, the club made no acknowledgment that the review was related to his death or any specific complaint.One staff member who left the Chelsea marketing department said the experience of working for Twelvetree simply became too much to take; fearing for their mental health, the employee quit the club despite not having lined up other employment. The experience had been so distressing, though, that the former employee detailed it in writing to Chelsea’s chairman, Bruce Buck. Others said they expressed similar concerns in communications with other top executives or in exit interviews with the club’s human resources staff. But little seemed to change beyond a churn of employees that had become so common that it was an open secret among recruiters who sometimes directed candidates toward open positions at Chelsea.Few employees had confidence in the review of the department once they heard it was to be jointly overseen by Twelvetree, the department head, and the outside consultants Chelsea hired.“It was not going to address the concerns, was it?” said a person asked to participate in the review. “How could it be if he is reviewing his own culture?”Staff members said that they have yet to receive any conclusions from the now-completed review, and that there have been no changes to work practices.“I consider myself to be quite a strong person and previously to working with Chelsea I never felt like I had concerns over my mental health,” said one former member of the marketing department. “But quite quickly after joining, I was not sleeping properly and it got worse and worse.”Alastair Grant/Associated PressThat anxiety became visible in Bignell, according to several of his former colleagues. Bignell had been a popular member of the club, heading its television operation, Chelsea TV. The channel had initially been run by the club’s communications department before moving into marketing as part of a new digital strategy implemented by the club’s hierarchy.The switch meant profound changes for Bignell, who had spent a decade running a television channel and was now required to switch his focus to producing digital content for social media, accounts that were under the direction of the team’s marketing staff. Bignell’s relationship with Twelvetree, staff members recalled, was a fraught one; Bignell, like others, struggled to deal with the marketing head’s management style, which could include biting, shouted critiques of their work that, some employees said, sometimes left colleagues in tears.A married father of two young daughters, Bignell largely hid the torment he was feeling from his co-workers, employees said. They described him as having a sunny, positive disposition, a colleague always ready to share a joke or lend an ear. But gradually, according to people who knew him, his physical condition had noticeably deteriorated.“Last time I saw him he was walking around Stamford Bridge and he was a mess,” said a colleague who encountered Bignell in the summer of 2021, around the time he left on medical leave. “He looked ill. He had lost so much weight.”Bignell returned to Chelsea in September and was abruptly fired the next day. In early January, he took his life. The team, in announcing his death on its website, said the “much-loved” Bignell was “a very popular and hugely respected member of the wider football and sports broadcasting family.” The coroner’s report, meanwhile, later linked his state of mind at the time of his death to his firing by Chelsea. “Richard was deeply troubled by anxiety, depression and despair following the loss of his job,” the report said.An Ongoing ExodusEven after Bignell’s death, and after the club’s cultural review, the Chelsea marketing staff has continued to lose employees.Those who have departed say they have now become used to providing emotional support for the colleagues who have stayed on. After attending one recent party marking the departure of multiple employees, for example, a former Chelsea staff member said she had spoken with so many individuals struggling with life at work that she had felt the event had doubled as a therapy session.Chelsea’s new ownership group, meanwhile, said Wednesday that it has reached out to Bignell’s relatives through the family’s lawyer. “Our heart goes out to Richard’s entire family,” the team’s statement said. “His passing has been deeply felt by his colleagues at the club and across the football community.”Senior Chelsea officials already had been speaking with the family, which had raised concerns about the circumstances of his death, and staff members said that they have continued to press internally for changes. But the sale of the club in May has only brought fresh uncertainty.As the new owners take control of the team, the most powerful leaders from Chelsea’s old regime are being replaced. The chief executive Guy Laurence, who runs the club’s day-to-day operations, and Buck, the outgoing chairman, were the most senior leaders whom staff members contacted with their concerns about working conditions.Now both are among those who will leave.If you are having thoughts of suicide, the following organizations can help.In Britain, contact Samaritans at 116-123 or email jo@samaritans.org. Calls are free and confidential. Or call Papyrus at +44 800 068 4141 (9 a.m. to midnight), or message Young Minds: text YM to 85258. You can also find a list of additional resources on Mind.org.uk.In the United States, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK). You can find a list of additional resources at SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources. More

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      in Football

      C.T.E. May Not Fully Explain Phillip Adams's Shooting Spree

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      A finding of C.T.E. can help explain violence and erratic behavior by former football players, but it will not give a clear picture of why Phillip Adams fatally shot seven people, including himself.It has become a grim but familiar pattern: Soon after an N.F.L. player dies, his family must decide whether to donate his brain to be tested for signs of chronic traumatic encephalopathy, the degenerative brain disease associated with repeated hits to the head.That was the choice facing the relatives of Phillip Adams, who fatally shot six people and then himself in his hometown, Rock Hill, S.C., this month. The family asked that his brain be sent to the C.T.E. Center at Boston University, the leading site for research on the disease, which has been found in hundreds of football players and other athletes but can be diagnosed only after death.If investigators request an expedited diagnosis — and thus far they have not — the researchers at Boston University would still need about four months to produce a definitive answer.While it has become common for N.F.L. families to question whether, and how deeply, C.T.E. affected a player, the sudden and atypical nature of Adams’s violent outburst, plus the pressures in the football-mad community where he lived, figures to cloud the answers that brain testing might provide.“Having the disease can make it more likely for you to be depressed and even kill someone or yourself, but we’ll never know if it was the only or the main cause of this tragic outcome,” said Adam M. Finkel, a quantitative risk assessor at the University of Michigan School of Public Health. “But the inability to prove that the disease caused any particular outcome should not be used to cast doubt on the broader point, that exposure to repeated head hits is strongly associated with a disease that increases various bad outcomes.”Even if Adams, whose six-year N.F.L. career ended after the 2015 season, is found to have had C.T.E., that may provide only one clue as to why he killed himself and six others. The disease has been linked to a host of symptoms, including aggressive, impulsive behavior and even suicidal thoughts. In many cases, families and friends of players found to have had C.T.E. say that the symptoms were uncharacteristic of the person they knew and that they became more pronounced over time.In this case, Adams’s sister, Lauren Adams, told USA Today that her brother, who was 32, had recently become unusually aggressive.“His mental health degraded fast and terribly bad,” she said. “There was unusual behavior.” The disease has also been tied to memory lapses, loss of focus and problems following directions and handling everyday chores. But researchers have found only associations, not causal links, between the disease and the many apparent symptoms.It remains difficult and perhaps impossible to determine a motive after a suicide because so many factors can play a role, including persistent mental distress and drug use. Adams does not appear to have left a note that tried to explain his motives, and such messages are often considered unreliable.While aggression is common in players who are ultimately found to have had C.T.E., rarely have they resorted to murder or suicide. Junior Seau and Dave Duerson are perhaps the best-known football players who killed themselves and were found to have had C.T.E. A far smaller group — including Jovan Belcher, a Kansas City Chiefs linebacker — has killed others before dying by suicide. Still, C.T.E. has grown in prominence as more former players are found to have had the disease, leading to vociferous debate about its role in their deaths.Much is still publicly unknown about what kind of medical treatment Adams may have received, or what relationship Adams had with Dr. Robert Lesslie, one of the six people who were murdered. Lesslie was a prominent local physician who specialized in emergency and occupational medicine.Representative Ralph Norman, Republican of South Carolina, told WBTV in Charlotte, N.C., last week that he had learned from law enforcement officials that Dr. Lesslie had seen Adams as a patient. The Sheriff’s Office for York County, S.C., has not confirmed the relationship.In 2017, Adams tried to apply for so-called line-of-duty benefits for injuries he obtained while in the N.F.L., but he had some trouble getting the necessary paperwork from his former teams, according to a disability adviser who worked with Adams. It is unclear how many of Adams’s six former teams provided injury records.A member of the York County Sheriff’s Office guarded the entrance to the home in Rock Hill, S.C., where Dr. Robert Lesslie; his wife, Barbara Lesslie; their two grandchildren; and two other men were fatally shot by Adams before he killed himself.Sam Wolfe/ReutersThose closest to Adams described him as not having come to terms with the end of his N.F.L. career and as someone who had a caretaker role in his family. He was very close to his mother, Phyllis Adams, and had been spending more time in his childhood home with her in recent months, neighbors said. His former agent, Scott Casterline, said Adams had turned down a job offer from him because he did not want to relocate to Texas, where he would be separated from his young son.Adams grew up in Rock Hill, which has given rise to so many N.F.L. players that it is known as Football City U.S.A.Casterline and some of Adams’s friends said Adams held himself to a high standard and never quite got over how his professional career had fizzled because of injuries and other factors.Like some other players, Adams focused so much of his early years honing his craft to get to the N.F.L. that he may have been at a loss over what to do next.“It always starts and ends with expectations,” said Seth Abrutyn, a sociologist at the University of British Columbia who studies the intersection of youth suicide and mental health. “If you are the main caretaker, or at least believe you are, the expectations you face can intensify. They are invisible pressures that exert real force on us.”Adams’s access to guns could have also been a factor in the tragedy. States with higher suicide rates tend to have higher gun ownership rates, research has shown. The average gun ownership rate in South Carolina was 43 percent in 2016, according to a recent Rand Corporation study, well above the average of 32 percent for all states.Police said Adams used two guns in the shootings last week, a .45-caliber and a 9 mm. He was arrested in 2016 in North Carolina and charged with carrying a concealed weapon, a misdemeanor.“What drives the overall suicide rate in the U.S. is gun ownership in the home,” said Matthew Miller, a professor of health sciences and epidemiology at Northeastern University, who has studied the intersection of guns and suicide. “It’s much easier to die when you can reach for a gun than when you can’t.”This and other factors may have fueled Adams’s fatal actions, Abrutyn said. Untangling them to find a clear pattern of behavior may never be possible.“It’s easy to have a monocausal explanation because it allows us to sleep better at night,” he said. “When we look our own lives, we know that that’s not true.” More

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      in Football

      What Led Phillip Adams, Former N.F.L. Player, to a Shooting Spree?

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      A small city that bills itself as Football City U.S.A. is grappling with the shooting deaths of members of a prominent local family by Phillip Adams who, many say, had been adrift after his N.F.L. career ended.He struggled to find work. His last-ditch chance to make an N.F.L. team fizzled. He had a child to support and little apparent direction in a life freighted with high expectations. His behavior was increasingly erratic. Then on Wednesday, for reasons no one yet knows for sure, Phillip Adams, a former N.F.L. cornerback, went to the Rock Hill, S.C., home of a prominent doctor and shot everybody he saw before fatally turning the gun on himself.Now, the football-loving community of 65,000 that bills itself as Football City U.S.A. is struggling to contend with Adams’s suddenly violent turn and its aftermath.Before he killed five people, including two children, and critically wounded a sixth person, Adams, 32, who shot and killed himself several hours after his rampage, had seemed adrift since he last played N.F.L. football almost six years ago, friends and associates said. He remained close to home, caring for his mother, Phyllis, a former high school teacher who became a paraplegic after a car accident a decade ago.But for all the pressures on Adams — and family members are openly questioning whether football damaged his brain — the many people who rooted for him throughout his career are grappling with the loss of Dr. Robert Lesslie and his family at the hands of a local son.“He was the role model that all coaches hoped they could coach,” said Jim Montgomery, who coached Adams in football at Rock Hill High School, the alma mater of numerous N.F.L. players. Montgomery said he spent most of Thursday answering phone calls through tears.The authorities said that Adams fatally shot Dr. Lesslie; his wife, Barbara; and two of their grandchildren, Adah Lesslie, 9, and Noah Lesslie, 5. James Lewis, 38, had been working on their home when he was killed, and a sixth victim, Robert Shook, is in critical condition.The police have yet to explain why Adams, who was described by friends as “chill” and almost reclusive, singled out the doctor, or whether the two men had any relationship.But Representative Ralph Norman, Republican of South Carolina, told Charlotte’s WBTV Thursday that he had learned from law enforcement officials that Dr. Lesslie had seen Adams as a patient. Sheriff officials would not confirm the relationship.“He was treating him and stopped giving him medicine and that’s what triggered the killings from what I understand,” said Norman, whose district encompasses Rock Hill.Members of the Adams family have their own theories. They wonder whether football may have damaged his brain in the same way that has led other players to turn violent and, in a few cases, take their own lives.On Thursday, Alonzo Adams, Phillip’s father, told WCNC, a Charlotte television station, “I think the football messed him up.” His sister, Lauren Adams, told USA Today that he had recently become uncharacteristically aggressive.“His mental health degraded fast and terribly bad,” she said. “There was unusual behavior.”Adams’s brain will be studied to determine whether he had chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or C.T.E., a degenerative brain disease associated with repeated hits to the head, according to Sabrina Gast, the coroner in York County. It can take months to receive a diagnosis for the disease, which has been linked to mood disorders, memory problems, impulsive behavior and other issues, and has been found in hundreds of former football players.Former coaches, colleagues, neighbors and associates who knew Adams described him in interviews as a hard-working athlete who never advanced beyond journeyman status in the N.F.L., but who remained a quiet, helpful presence in town.“In 43 years, if you would’ve told me that this would have happened with Phillip Adams, I would’ve put him in the last five of the thousands of kids I coached,” Montgomery said on Thursday. “It’s just a sad day.”Duane Belue, a longtime friend and neighbor of the Adams family, said Phillip was close to his mother. Though Phillip had bought a new truck, he did not appear to overspend, and he stayed with his parents for extended periods. Within the last year, the Belues said they noticed that Phillip’s behavior had changed. He was less approachable and would pace outside aimlessly.“We noticed in the yard, he was out walking, kind of sad,” Anne Belue said. “You can’t judge somebody that far away, but he was always real friendly before then.”A star player in high school and in college at South Carolina State, Adams was picked by the San Francisco 49ers in the seventh round of the 2010 N.F.L. draft. He sustained a severe ankle injury his rookie season that may have derailed his career.“The bone went through the skin,” said Scott Casterline, Adams’s former agent. “Luckily, he had a good surgeon who helped him. But when a team sees a devastating injury like that, they move on.”After the 49ers released him, Adams bounced around the league with stops in New England, Seattle, Oakland (where he sustained two concussions), the Jets and Atlanta.He had one more shot at landing a roster spot, according to Casterline. During training camp in 2016, the Colts called and asked Adams to get to Indianapolis to participate in practice the following day. Casterline urged his client to jump on the next flight, but Adams — who was always gung ho for football — was suddenly hesitant.“He made it to the Charlotte airport, but the flight had left already,” Casterline said. “I could tell his head was not in it. He’d given up on it.”Casterline described Adams as a loner, not one to go to clubs or drink alcohol. He also hinted at financial troubles. Adams earned $3.6 million during his career and, at one point, wanted to invest in a smoothie shop. Casterline, who said he thought of Adams as a son, told his client it was a mistake because many retail businesses fail.Last fall, Adams called his former agent and asked for help finding employment. Casterline said he tried to persuade him to relocate to Dallas and work at one of his companies.“I said to just come out here to Texas,” Casterline said. “He just wouldn’t do it. He had a son. He was a good father and it was difficult with the baby’s mother.”On Wednesday, the day of the shootings, Adams’s father, Alonzo, called Casterline and said he wanted to talk about his son. Casterline did not find the message unusual. Occasionally, Adams’s parents called if they were unable to find Phillip.“I called Alonzo back and left a message, not realizing it had already happened,” Casterline said.In a news conference on Thursday, York County Sheriff Kevin Tolson said evidence recovered from the home of the Lesslies led them to suspect Adams of the killings. The authorities said they evacuated the Adamses’ home and tried to persuade Phillip to surrender. They found him inside, dead of a self-inflicted gunshot.A mourner adjusted items at a memorial outside of Riverview Family Medicine and Urgent Care, where Dr. Robert Lesslie practiced medicine.Sean Rayford/Getty ImagesIt is often difficult to assign motive to cases where a gunman has not left a note or spoken specifically of his or her intent, even more so in cases that end with the gunman’s death.But some of Adams’s friends said he never got over how his N.F.L. career ended. Rather than catching on with one team and landing a big contract worth tens of millions of dollars, he bounced from team to team, often playing for the league minimum salary. The calls for his services stopped coming, a common fate in the N.F.L., because colleges produce dozens of cheaper, healthier replacement players every year.The disappointment of washing out was particularly acute for Adams, friends said, because he came from Rock Hill, which has given rise to so many N.F.L. players that it is known as Football City U.S.A.To Adams, even a six-year career — twice as long as the average — may have been a letdown when compared to those of other local players like Jadeveon Clowney, who was picked first over all in the 2014 draft and is a three-time Pro Bowl selection; tight end Benjamin Watson, who played 13 seasons with the Patriots, Saints and other teams; and Stephon Gilmore, a defensive leader on the Patriots.“We have a saying around here: You could pay $6 on Friday night or you can wait a few years and pay $600 to see the kids around here play,” said Gene Knight, a broadcaster who has covered the city’s sports for decades.Charcandrick West, who played with the Kansas City Chiefs from 2014 to 2018 and shared an agent with Adams, said he and Adams worked out together during a couple of off-seasons. West said Adams was reserved and proud of his Rock Hill roots.“I never saw him get mad at anyone,” West said. “He was all about his business, washing and folding his clothes, real neat.”West added: “I feel like every athlete tries to keep high expectations. When you’re from Rock Hill, such a great football town, he didn’t want to be known as the guy who bounced around.”Neighbors noticed that Adams’s behavior had changed in the past year. He was less friendly and would pace outside his Rock Hill, S.C., home. “We noticed in the yard, he was out walking, kind of sad,” Anne Belue, a neighbor, said.Sam Wolfe/ReutersCasterline, who has worked as an N.F.L. agent for decades, also said Adams had trouble grasping why he didn’t catch on with a team.“Sometimes, these decisions are political,” Casterline said of teams’ cutting players. “Someone who’s drafted in the first round is going to get the most opportunities. That weighed on him a lot. The Patriots cut him three times in one season. They needed him, they didn’t, they’d cut him and re-sign him. It’s good for the paycheck, but not for the psyche.”Knight, the local sports broadcaster, remembered Adams as “a fierce competitor on the field, but he was a gentleman off the field all the times I encountered him.”Knight had also been treated once by Dr. Lesslie, a popular and well-known physician in Rock Hill, when he struggled with food poisoning. He said Dr. Lesslie worked on him at 2 a.m., easing his symptoms with intravenous therapy.“It’s not two people whose paths I thought would cross in this manner,” he said. “And I think that’s what a lot of people are wrestling with in the whole craziness of this situation.”John Jeter More